FÉLIX FAURE
Beyond the hours of depression and the every-day troubles that fall to
the lot of all human beings: disappointed dreams, thwarted ambitions,
shattered illusions, financial cares and family worries, there happened
nothing particularly eventful in my life until the day when I became the
friend and confidante of Félix Faure, elected President of the Republic
in January 1895.
The political and other events of general interest which took place in
France during the years immediately preceding that date, may be summed
up in a few words.
After the Panama scandal and the vanishing of the "two hundred and fifty
million francs," cabinets were formed and cabinets fell with symptomatic
and alarming rapidity. For instance, in January 1898, Ribot becomes
Premier, but already in March Dupuy succeeds him. The general election
reveals nothing... except the nation's apathy. The election of fifty
Socialists as deputies, however, is worth noting. Later Casimir Périer
becomes Prime Minister. He has a revered name, is capable, and he is
wealthy, but his Ministry does not last six months, and in May 1894,
Dupuy returns to power. The next month an Italian anarchist murders
President Carnot, the noblest of men and an able statesman, worthy
grandson of the victor of Wattignies, of Lazare Carnot, the "Organiser
of Victory." Four days later, the Congress sitting at Versailles, elects
Casimir Périer to the highest office in the Republic, but in January
1905, tired of being slandered, fettered, and insulted, and for private
reasons, too, Casimir Périer resigns and Félix Faure becomes President.
He had rapidly reached the supreme rank. Under-Secretary for the
Colonies from 1882 to 1885 in Jules Ferry's Cabinet, he was elected
vice-president of the Chamber in 1893, became Minister for the Navy in
1894, and President of the Republic in 1895.
That very year he received the Lord Mayor of London, Sir Joseph Renals,
and the following year, in October, the Czar and the Czaritza. I
attended the gala performance at the Opera, the laying of the first
stone of the Alexander III. bridge, which was to illustrate in stone and
bronze the Franco-Russian Alliance, and even went to Châlons to see the
military review held there. I had left Beaucourt for the purpose of
attending these ceremonies in the company of an important official. The
Czar struck me as more unassuming than the President, and the rather
pathetic beauty of the Empress of all the Russians made a deep
impression upon me. France went Russia mad, and Félix Faure became
extremely popular.
The Alliance which had been marked by the visit of a French squadron
commanded by Admiral Gervais to Kronstadt (1891), the mission of General
Boisdeffre to St. Petersburg in the following year, and the visit of the
Russian Admiral Avelan to Toulon and Paris in 1893, was to become a
_fait accompli_ during the return visit of Félix Faure to the Czar in
August 1897.
Three months before this momentous visit there occurred in Paris the
terrible catastrophe of the _Bazar de la Charité_ which claimed some
hundred and fifty victims. I miraculously escaped death that day. I was
one of the ladies in charge of the buffet, and was serving tea, when I
felt suddenly unwell, so much so that, reluctantly, I had to leave the
Bazaar. The carriage in which I drove home had hardly turned the corner
of the Rue Jean Goujon when the fire broke out.
My mother arrived at my house in a state of mad terror, for she had
accompanied me a few hours before as far as the doors of the Bazaar, and
when she had heard of the fire, had feared that I was one of the
victims. I was safe but, alas, lost my dear friends in the catastrophe.
A few weeks later the second jubilee of Queen Victoria was celebrated,
and with a few English friends staying in Paris, I attended the great
garden-party given at the British Embassy by Sir Edmund Monson. Mme.
Faure and her daughter, M. Hanotaux, Minister of Foreign Affairs, and
the whole literary, artistic, and political _élite_ of France were
present.
I heartily congratulated an eminent English personage on the splendour
of the reception and the atmosphere of pleasant mirth which permeated
the Embassy.
"Of course, Madame," he remarked, "the Embassy has not always this
bright animation! But you must not believe that we English are as sedate
and stolid and gloomy as some people say. And I may inform you, by the
way, that this house was once the residence of the notorious Pauline
Borghese, whose only ambition was to be pretty and to... to be loved."
He then told us a number of lively anecdotes about the ravishing sister
of Napoleon--and concluded; "Don't you think there is something piquant
in the fact that the Ambassador of stern and solemn Old England lives in
a house which once belonged to a famous crowned courtesan!"
On July 14th--the day of the _fête nationale_--the usual review took
place at Longchamps, and I took my six-year-old daughter to see "the
soldiers," but, instead of watching them, she kept staring at the Rajah
of Kapurthala, who was close to us, and asking endless questions which
brought smiles to the lips of all those who overheard her, but
embarrassed me very much.
I spent the rest of July and the whole month of August in the Alps, with
my husband, who had to work "on the spot," for a vast "panorama of the
Alpine Club," which was intended for the Exhibition of 1900. The Alpine
manoeuvres were in progress at the beginning of August, and President
Faure, who had been to Valence and Orange, came to witness them. Just
before a sham fight by the Chasseurs Alpins near the Vanoise Pass, my
husband took up a position whence he could survey the coming scene, and
I, further down and camera in hand, was preparing to take snap-shots
from the top of a rock, when I heard some voices. There, below me, was
a group of men, and one of them, wearing a red shirt, a brown suit,
yellowish gaiters, and a white _béret_, looked up at me and said
something I could not hear. I believe he asked whether he should stop to
be photographed. I failed to recognise the President of the Republic and
his suite. But shortly afterwards an officer came to ask whether M. and
Mme. Steinheil would lunch with the President. I declined, thinking the
invitation too sudden and too formal, but my husband accepted and told
me he would ask the President for permission to paint the forthcoming
"distribution of decorations" at La Traversette.
Needless to say, I had met the President before. For several years I had
regularly attended functions at the Elysée, and had made the
acquaintance of Félix Faure, as I had made that of Carnot and of Casimir
Périer. I had even spoken at length with him on two or three occasions
when he was Minister for the Navy.
That same day, in the village which at the time was my husband's
headquarters, I saw the President once more. A group of little girls,
wearing the quaint old dresses of Savoy, were offering flowers to
him.... Félix Faure saw me, bowed deeply, and afterwards there came an
invitation to dinner--which I declined. The next morning yet another
invitation came, this time to lunch, near Bourg Saint-Maurice, at the
redoubt which overlooks the Petit Saint Bernard. My husband accepted,
but I declined again, under the first pretext that occurred to me....
The truth was that I was far too busy collecting native buckles,
bracelets and crosses, the wooden birds in which the Savoy peasants keep
salt, and all the headdresses I could buy, to care to lunch with the
"first magistrate" in the land and his suite! I much preferred the milk,
cheese, and brown bread of the mountaineers to all the dainties and
wines of the presidential table. When at night my husband returned with
his companions--a judge and a mayor--I was told the President repeatedly
alluded to my absence. My husband made his sketches of the distribution
by President Faure of "decorations" to Alpine soldiers at La
Traversette, and joined me again. The Chief of the State left for Annecy
and Paris, and later, while my husband and I were leading the simple
life in the mountains of Savoy, the President was in Russia with the
Czar, enjoying the banquets given in his honour at Kronstadt, St.
Petersburg and Peterhof.
My husband's painting of the Traversette scene included, of course,
portraits of the various members of the President's suite and
they--ministers and officers--came during the autumn to the studio in
the Impasse Ronsin to sit for their portraits. The President gave a
sitting to M. Steinheil at the Elysée. An exchange of letters followed.
Félix Faure was anxious to see the "historic" painting, and I was told
that he wished to visit our house, which had been described to him by
his _entourage_, in which I numbered several friends. I was overwhelmed
with invitations to the Elysée.... At the beginning of 1898 the picture
was completed, and the President called one morning to see it.
My uncle, General Japy, was with my husband and me to receive him. My
garden was one huge bouquet, and as soon as he had entered, with General
Bailloud and a young officer, the President expressed his delight.
Marthe offered him a sheaf of flowers that was almost as big as herself,
but absolutely refused to be kissed. Her obstinacy amused Félix Faure,
who asked:
"What is the toy you like best?"
"A doll."
"What is your name?"
"Marthe."
"Well, little Marthe, I will give instructions for a perfect doll with a
complete trousseau to be made and sent to you, exactly the same as I am
sending to the Czar's daughter."
"Thank you," said Marthe quietly, but nevertheless refused to be kissed.
[Illustration: PRESIDENT FELIX FAURE]
Félix Faure admired the drawing-room and the "winter-garden," examined
closely as a connoisseur a few pieces of antique furniture, and then
stopping near the piano: "Ah! It is no fun to be a President," he
sighed. "I am deprived of music.... Of course the band of the
Republican Guard plays at the dinner-parties at the Elysée, and there is
the Opera, and... the Marseillaise, wherever I go, but I seldom, if
ever, hear the music I love, chamber music, or a simple song, sung at
the piano!"
He told me that he had heard about the musical parties at my house, and
that his friend Massenet was also my friend, and finally asked whether I
would sing, just for once, at the Elysée.
"No, M. le President," I replied. "I don't believe I could sing
there.... It seems to me that everything official is necessarily
inartistic, and I should not care to sing in surroundings that were
uncongenial."
He walked to my husband's studio. The President was delighted with the
picture.
"Do you know," he asked me, "that they are singing a song on the
boulevards about the white _béret_ I wore at the Alpine manoeuvres?"
"I suppose they are comparing it to Henri IV.'s famous white plume, M.
le President," a young officer suggested.
"No,... I wish they did.... There's nothing historical about the song.
Still, it is an advertisement, and even Presidents need _réclame_.... It
is a very caustic but still very jolly song."
Marthe exclaimed: "Please sing it to me!"
"I will if you will give me that kiss!"
Marthe ran away.
The President looked at the pictures in the studio. He paused before a
small painting by my husband, representing a woman of Bourg
Saint-Maurice, wearing the pretty mediæval cap still in use in certain
parts of Savoy. It is like a round helmet of brilliantly coloured
material, with a point above the forehead. The hair tightly plaited is
twisted round with black tape, which forms part of the helmet (a three
hours' process which the women at Bourg Saint-Maurice told me they only
went through twice a month), and from that strange but becoming headgear
hangs a loose chain made of black and golden beads.
Félix Faure was so delighted with this little portrait that he insisted
on buying it.... Needless to say, it was gladly offered to him as a
souvenir of his brief stay in the Alps.
He then insisted on inviting my husband and me to lunch at the
Elysée.... "And don't refuse, this time," he added, turning to me.
From that day flowers and invitations rained upon me from the Elysée.
A month or two afterwards, the _vernissage_ (opening day) of the Salon,
which the President of the Republic attends each year, took place, and
Félix Faure was present with Méline, the Premier, Hanotaux, Minister of
Foreign Affairs, and a large array of prominent functionaries. My friend
Bonnat, Director of the Ecole des Beaux-Arts and "Painter of
Presidents," conducted Félix Faure through the rooms.
Suddenly, Bonnat came to me and said gaily: "The President has been
asking for you ever since he arrived here. I believe he is fond of you,
as we all are, even I, your dear 'Methuselah!' Please come and meet him;
I have left him with your husband; they are both expecting you."
I gave him a gentle tap with my catalogue; he ran back to fulfil his
official duties, and five minutes later, the Army, in the shape of a
colonel, came to fetch me.
"I am delighted," said Félix Faure, "to be at last able to congratulate
you, Madame."
"You forget I did not paint the picture," I said in a low voice.
"The State," he went on, "desires to acquire it."
"You forget the picture belongs to my husband."
"You know most painters, Madame; will you consent to act as my guide?"
"Yes, with M. Bonnat's indispensable assistance."
I took the President quickly past the works of famous painters--those
loaded with honours and wealth--and made him stop before the paintings
of little-known and talented artists who needed--and deserved--recognition;
and I had the satisfaction of seeing Félix Faure and a few members of
his suite make a note of the names of certain young but promising
painters....
"I am taking advantage of your kindness, Madame, but I am the President
of the Republic, and I am sure you are a patriot.... You hail from the
Eastern frontier?..."
"My birth-place is only half an hour from Alsace... but one may be a
patriot without being attached to the Republic, M. le President. Who
knows but that I am a Bonapartist?"
Félix Faure promptly replied: "I should understand if there were still a
Bonaparte!"
We parted, and with a few close friends, I went round the various rooms.
Just as I was about to leave, M. Roujon, Director at the Ministry of
Fine Arts, rushed towards me....
"The President," he began breathlessly.
"What! Again the President."
"Yes, still the President, Madame.... He has requested me to tell you
that he doesn't wish the State to buy your husband's picture. He has
acquired it for himself."
Aggravated, I went to Bonnat, who had already heard the news.
"You can do nothing," he said. "How can you prevent the President from
ranking above the State... in such a matter!"
I appreciated Félix Faure's kindly intentions, but thought his methods
rather too impulsive and embarrassing.
My husband wrote to the President to thank him. We called on him several
times at the Elysée, and a warm friendship formed.
One afternoon, I had a long conversation with Félix Faure, in his study.
We had often talked of art, music, travel and politics, but never going
much beyond the surface of things.... This time, he was extremely
earnest and spoke to me about the hopeless political situation in France
and the ever increasing difficulties he had to face. He spoke about the
general elections which had just taken place.... The Socialists had
polled an extraordinary number of votes; the Radical deputies elected
exceeded the Moderates in number.... A new party had risen: the
Nationalists. What these meant was not quite clear but they certainly
meant mischief. Every one was dissatisfied.... Anarchy was rampant....
The _Chambre_ was an incoherent assembly and there was the Dreyfus
Affair to tackle.... Thank Heaven, the elections had shown that the
Republican majority was against Dreyfus and his supporters.... But
trouble was brewing.
"I know all this," I said, "but how can I help you? I am not a Cabinet
Minister!"
"Quite so... but I am sure you could help me a great deal, if only to
discover the truth...." he remarked seriously, then, changing his tone
he added whimsically: "Do you know I have heard a great deal about you,
of late? It appears that you have unusual powers of persuasion. In the
various Ministries, when I wish to secure this or that post for a
_protégé_, I am invariably told that it has already been promised to one
of your friends. Your candidates pass before mine...."
We talked about his career and about my life.... Then he took me round
the place. He showed me the hall where Napoleon had held receptions and
the room where he had last slept in Paris after the battle of Waterloo,
the "Hall of Sovereigns" where Napoleon had abdicated and where Queen
Victoria had stayed in 1855.
After walking round the gardens we returned to the President's study.
Thenceforth, I met him almost every day, either in the Bois de Boulogne,
where he rode in the morning, or at the Elysée. He would telephone to me
at any hour of the day. There was always something to do, some one to
sound. Félix Faure had fullest confidence in me and I went, for him,
when he could not go himself, to the sittings of the Chamber of Deputies
or of the Senate, to certain receptions and parties. He was surrounded
by enemies, and he knew it. He made use of my intuition, of my knowledge
of people. I met him after all the Cabinet Councils, and he told me what
had been discussed and decided.
A new life began for me; my _rôle_ of confidante had its difficulties
and even its dangers, but it had a wonderful fascination. My salon was
now more crowded than ever before. Invitations were showered upon me
both from quarters friendly with the Government and from quarters in
league with the Opposition. My "friends" were legion, and my
enemies--you cannot possess influence or power without making
enemies--were greater flatterers than the others.
Then, there were men who tried to persuade me of this, that or the
other, so that I should in my turn persuade the President, and those who
laid traps for me, men whose entreaties were disguised threats, who
tried to know what I knew, and who did not seem to realise that their
very attitude revealed quite plainly their shameless scheme....
How often I was able to warn the President in time against a dangerous
mistake. How often I prevented him from appointing to some responsible
position a man who perhaps had an interesting career behind him, and a
stainless reputation, but under whose mask of impassiveness I had been
able to detect a man without scruples or principles, an _arriviste_,
ready to sell everything and even himself to achieve his ambition.... No
man is inscrutable to a woman, especially when that woman is devoted to
one whom she has decided to help, and when she is supposed to care for
nothing more essential than music, flowers, dress, or success.
And I hasten to add that I sided no more with one party than with
another.
At the time when the whole French nation was divided into two parties,
there were among my best friends, among the men whom I most respected
and admired, staunch Dreyfusards and also staunch anti-Dreyfusards.
I believed then, as I believe to-day, in tolerance, liberty, and
legality. I never took part in one single political discussion, not even
in my own drawing-room. What I heard I remembered, and when I thought
that a piece of what I would call "psychological information" could
assist the President I retold it to him.
It goes without saying that I was very much sought after, if only
because I had some influence in most ministries and at the Elysée. And
it was a source of real joy to me to be able to render services to so
many people who seemed to need them. I remember, for instance, a
Minister, who after some unlucky speculations had so many debts, just at
the time when one Cabinet fell, that he was lost unless he obtained a
portfolio--and the salary attached to it--in the next. His friends
implored me to intercede with the President on his behalf.
"He has rendered poor services as a Minister," said Félix Faure when I
approached him, "but I will see that he is appointed to a post for which
he is better suited, although I am sure he is not worth bothering about.
The post will be less conspicuous, but quite as lucrative... and that
seems to be the great point."
Need I add that the ex-Minister became my enemy afterwards? The greater
the services, as a rule, the greater the ingratitude.
The number of incidents of all kinds--strange, tragic, heroic,
harrowing, comical, or revolting--which I witnessed during the year
1898, is truly amazing. I recall a leader of society, a noblewoman, who
sacrificed her fortune, her reputation, and her happiness for the sake
of a man implicated in the Dreyfus affair, in whom she had absolute
faith, and who made a political blunder that plunged him into a tragedy
for which he certainly was only indirectly responsible. I remember a
prominent and really able citizen who, in a moment of patriotic frenzy,
made such a fool of himself that he and all his family, for whose sake
he made a daring but absurd move, was crushed under that almighty and
often unjust power--Ridicule. I recall a pigmy, in size and brains, who
through sheer luck and a sly use of his opportunities, became famous for
a while, and made a fortune out of other men's thoughts. And I could
tell the abject story of a personage of very high standing in whom Félix
Faure had complete confidence. Somehow I distrusted that man, and
succeeded in preventing the President from accepting his statements as
"gospel" truth at a time when, owing to the electional atmosphere of the
political world, the slightest errors of judgment became unpardonable
faults, and even treachery.... After the death of the President, and
in most unexpected circumstances, I found out that the exalted personage
had had, for years, as mistress, a woman who was a spy in the service of
the German Embassy. He was that woman's tool, but she loved him, and
when he forsook her, Fate brought her to me, in search of a living. I
discovered the whole truth about her and her friend, and realised then,
and only then, how well-inspired I had been when I warned Félix Faure
against the man.
[Illustration: A LETTER FROM FELIX FAURE TO MME. STEINHEIL]
It would be only too easy to quote scores of such facts, but the others,
however vaguely I might describe them would still be too transparent,
and I do not write these Memoirs out of spite, ill-feeling, or revenge
against any one. In this chapter I merely wish to convey some idea of
the part I played in President Faure's life.
* * * * *
Félix Faure, having noticed that some of my letters did not reach him,
we agreed that in the future when we were unable to meet freely, and
when we had some important communication to make to one another, our
letters would be sealed with white wax in "urgent," and with blue wax in
all other cases; also that my valet would take my messages to the
President, and his messages would be handed to the same man, summoned by
a private telephone call.
I entered the Elysée--whither a private detective, who had been selected
by the President himself, always accompanied me--by a small door in the
gardens, at the corner of the Rue du Colisée and the Avenue des Champs
Elysées, and through the grounds to the small "blue salon," where the
President awaited me for "our task."
That task, as the reader may have already guessed, was the "Memoirs" of
the President.
Félix Faure, who, in spite of the many things that satisfied his
self-esteem--the brilliant side of his exalted function, the relative
importance of it, and, above all, the fact that it placed him on an
equal footing with kings and emperors--was looking forward to the end of
his _septennat_ and was anxious to explain some day his conduct in the
political and diplomatic events in which he had been and was so
intimately concerned. These "Memoirs" were to form a secret history of
France since the Franco-Prussian War. To these "Memoirs" I was
contributing a mass of notes and comments throwing some light on certain
personalities, on certain facts. Sometimes we worked apart, sometimes
together, and more than once I spent a whole afternoon examining and
classifying documents whilst the President in the next room was granting
audiences.
We wrote the "Memoirs" on foolscap which I brought myself, for the
President knew that his stationery was counted!
Everything went into these "Memoirs," which were already assuming bulky
proportions: the evolution of the internal and the foreign policy of
France; the Franco-Russian Alliance; the secret story of the Dreyfus
Affair; the schemes of the various Pretenders to the throne of France.
There were details on financial problems, colonial expansion, armaments,
electoral systems, Administration, the Army and the Navy....
Certainly, if a general and critical survey, conscientious, impartial,
sober, and packed with first-hand information of all the events that
made the history of the Third Republic, were worth writing--and how can
one deny it?--then Félix Faure did well to spend daily long hours of his
time, and of mine, in writing his "Memoirs," though had they been
published, say, within ten or fifteen years a great number of so-called
"prominent" men would have had to disappear in order to escape the scorn
of the whole world as well as the execration of their own people.
The "Memoirs" were locked up in an iron box, which was opened only when
new material had to be added to the great mass already collected. Then,
one day, the President begged me to take these important and secret
documents home with me for safety. The iron box was left in his study,
and partly filled with blank sheets--for the box might be shaken! I took
the contents home, little by little and day by day, until the box was
empty.
Many times it seemed to me that I was being shadowed, but my faithful
"agent" watched over me, and I was able to store all the papers safely
away in my house. Félix Faure had told me to keep them (and had given me
a letter which said so) and to have them published if I thought fit in
the case of his death, for, as he said more than once to me: "I
sometimes fear I shall end like Carnot...."
* * * * *
The President had a very high notion of his office, but frequently
complained of his limited powers.
"And yet," I once told him, "you appoint your Ministers, the nomination
of all officials rests with you, and you control the Army and the
Navy...."
"Yes, but to what extent?... You say I control the Navy! But I know for
a fact that nearly all the powder in the magazines of our battleships is
defective, that the armour-plating of those battleships has not the
thickness that was ordered--which, of course, means thousands of pounds
to the swindlers!--and that the boilers are almost worthless!... I have
lost my temper and more than once come down on them all like a ton of
bricks, but things have not been altered. A President is but a
figure-head! And yet you know with what passion I love the Navy. I was
born at Le Hâvre, I have always loved all that concerns the sea, and
when I entered Parliament my great ambition was to become Minister of
the Navy.... Even now the Navy is one of my chief interests--my 'hobby,'
if you like to call it so; and there is my note-paper with the initials
'F.F.' entwined by a symbolic anchor...."
He loved to talk of naval matters. "I share Delcassé's views," he said
once (the conversation took place on the day when he heard that one of
our ships had been wrecked on the coast of Madagascar). "England is the
great enemy, because England is the great naval power and is so close to
our shores and our harbours. Unless we make friends with England, we
must find the best way to harass her, in case of war. And I can see
nothing better than reviving the old right of privateering and building
small but extremely fast craft, large enough to carry a great deal of
fuel, so as to be able to remain a long time at sea without replenishing
their bunkers. We must be able to destroy the commerce of England, to
starve her. To avoid important naval engagements and vanquish the enemy
in numberless skirmishes, that should be our aim. We have neither the
means nor the ability England possesses of building extensively and
rapidly."
"But privateering," I suggested, remembering my father's long chat on
what he rightly called "the most fascinating period of French history,"
"was a total failure during the Revolution and the Napoleonic wars."
"Quite so," said Félix Faure; "but as my friend Admiral Fournier says,
the only way to make France powerful from a naval standpoint is to
supply her with an unique fleet, as regards efficiency and number, of
torpedo-boats, destroyers, and submarines."
The President was quite enthusiastic about the Navy. He would explain to
me for a whole hour that ships spent far too much time in harbour, that
gun-practice was far too limited; he would quote off-hand the gunnery
records of certain British and American battleships. And at the end of
his talk he would telephone to Lockroy, the Minister of the Navy, and
beg him to investigate this or that point, or perhaps suggest that he or
some member of his staff should visit this or that station or dockyard.
Félix Faure was less a statesman than a business man. He greatly admired
the way in which the English managed their Colonies: "Theirs pay; ours
don't. We laugh, alas! at the ideas and customs of the natives. Why
don't we imitate the English or the Dutch? But there, we never had any
respect for other people's notions or convictions."
The various evils he complained of all came from the same source:
politicians in France are not the _élite_ of the nation. The best
brains, the most able men do not care for politics, and have no ambition
to be in office.
[Illustration: THE FELIX FAURE "TALISMAN"]
The Alliance with Russia, the first move towards which had been made
under President Carnot, but for which Faure had done so much, was,
naturally enough, a cause of much gratification to him. He would explain
at length the utility of the Alliance, and he did so with the gusto of a
business man who has made a wonderful deal, and who, in order to
flatter his self-esteem, keeps on finding fresh indications, direct or
indirect, of the importance of his bargain.
"Napoleon," he would say, for instance, "was never so powerful as when
he was allied to Alexander the First. Again, one may safely assert that
France, in 1815, would have been dismembered had it not been for
Alexander. Sixty years later it was his nephew, Alexander II., who saved
France from a German invasion five years after the Franco-Prussian War.
"And who knew but that that disastrous war might not have been avoided
had Napoleon III. not ignored the friendly advances of Gortschakoff!"
More than once President Faure showed strong leanings towards a
_rapprochement_ with England... before the Fashoda affair, and this was
chiefly due to the influence of the Prince of Wales (later King Edward
VII.), for whom he felt the greatest personal regard, and whose
diplomatic ability he much admired. What would President Faure have said
had he lived a few years longer, and seen that, in spite of the Fashoda
incident and in spite of the aggressively anglophobic attitude of France
during the Boer War, King Edward VII. succeeded, by reason of his
charming manner, his diplomacy (so subtle and yet so simple), and his
sincere love for France, in making the whole French people extend to
England the warm sympathy they felt for him.